


Some Bets You Don't Take

by Marvelgirl4, Silly_Fly



Category: RWBY
Genre: Backstory, Coming of Age, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Mentor/Protégé, Mild Language, Pre-Volume 1 (RWBY), Rating May Change, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-03-08 09:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13455360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvelgirl4/pseuds/Marvelgirl4, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silly_Fly/pseuds/Silly_Fly
Summary: In the world of Remnant, things are seldom as black-and-white as they seem. Roman Torchwick knows this better than most. Born to parents who push him toward greatness, he chooses to forge his own path in the world; striking out alone to explore the world and discover where he truly belongs.What begins as a solo endeavor, however, becomes an exercise in trust. Remnant proves to be a tricky web to navigate, and Roman soon learns the value of survival. Through harsh winters, run-ins with the police, and a new appreciation for the dangers of crossing Grimm, he'll slowly be moulded from a mischievous, street-smart kid into one of Remnant's most cunning criminals.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first RWBY-inspired work, and I would like you all to know that I am not working alone! One of my best friends (follow her on Tumblr @silly-fly, because she's amazing) is working on this story with me, fixing my horrendous grammar and making sure I do Roman justice. She's the technician of this tale, its caretaker, and its true creator. She is the one who began our discussion on where Roman came from and why he is the way he is. This is, in many ways, more of HER brain child than it is mine. I simply put words to paper. She makes sure those words create art.

“The street was no place for someone of high birth.” 

That was the hymn his parents had kept up every day of his life; through every mistake, transgression, sin, and accident. 

People like them did not lower themselves. People like them were perfect. 

He wasn’t, though. 

He knew he wasn’t. 

He’d never been meant to be. 

It had taken expulsion from three different schools, countless calls from truancy officers, and fourteen years of arguments which, at times, grew so loud that concerned neighbors had to call the authorities, to bring Roman to this point. He couldn’t live in that house anymore. He couldn’t be the son his parents (if he could even call them that) had worked so hard to mold him into; quiet, obedient, submissive. They wanted a puppet; and whatever they wanted, they were bound and determined to get through any means necessary. 

For a few years, mostly before Roman had learned how to talk, it’d looked like his parents would get what they wanted. They often spoke proudly of the day he was born, a pound underweight but healthy otherwise, and with the first few wisps of red hair gained from some great-great-grandfather they insisted had been a famous diplomat. By all appearances, the new baby would be a blessing. Through his infancy, Roman had grown in energy, learning to walk at only a few months old and running for the first time very shortly afterward. His parents counted their blessings; their baby was gifted! Surely, he’d continue the pattern of excellence their ancestors had started…right?

Wrong. So, so wrong. 

Gaining his ability to speak had been the first crack in Mother and Father’s delicate plans. Once Roman had learned that “no” was an option for pretty much anything they suggested, he’d used it often, and with a certain fondness. No, he wouldn’t eat the peas. They tasted like feet. No, he wouldn’t come inside. It was barely even dark out; why did he have to stop playing? 

No, he wouldn’t put his coat on; no, he wouldn’t give Mommy the scissors; no, no, no! 

“No” was followed in rapid succession by “why.” Why did he have to share with the other kids? Why did he have to hold Mommy’s hand when they crossed the street? Why did he have to stop talking to the lady with the funny-looking antlers, and why did she look so sad when his Daddy pulled him away; and why did Daddy call her “faunus garbage?” Why was it okay for Mommy and Daddy to say what they thought, but Roman couldn’t speak unless they gave him permission? Roman had thoughts about things! He wanted to talk, too! 

Things had only escalated from there. With new dexterity in his ever-evolving limbs, Roman had begun to explore his world through his sense of touch, often squeezing fragile things until they broke just to see if they really were as weak as they looked. He took to climbing trees and wandering past the confines of his family’s property at around age ten, and on more than one occasion had to be escorted home by neighbors who were none-too-keen to have him sneaking around where he wasn’t welcomed. 

At first, Roman’s parents had simply shrugged when their friends asked about his behavior. “He’s a growing boy,” Roman’s father had claimed once, “and he’s exploring his energy. He’ll settle down once he starts school and finds his niche.” 

Maybe, if Roman’s mother and father had paid more attention, they would have seen that excuses like that didn’t quite cover everything. True, Roman didn’t fit into a box. He didn’t have a best friend like many growing boys did, he didn’t take to sports (in the traditional sense, anyway), and he wasn’t overly fond of playing in the dirt; but, that was only on the surface. There was something deeper that took root during Roman’s formulate years; something that could only be blamed on his parents never being around. 

Roman was lonely. 

His mother ran in the “traditional housewife” circle of Society. She dressed to match her wealthier peers, fingers ever-crossed that they wouldn’t notice the artifice of her visage. Fake jewelry, cheap makeup, hand-me-down clothes from more successful relatives; everything she wore was an act. The woman was a born performer, and she spent every waking moment trying to perfect her ruse. If ignoring her son’s pleas to “come see what I did, Mom” meant she didn’t have to dirty her white cotton gloves, then she would happily ignore him. Whatever mess Roman had made could be left for a later date. She had social events to get to. She didn’t have time right now. 

Roman’s father was a dust trader, employed by the Schnee Dust Company to get their product out to distributors. It was an easy-enough job, but apparently it was also once which took up Father’s every waking moment. Roman couldn’t remember a single moment during his growing up when Father hadn’t had his scroll to his ear making one deal or another. The man saw his whole world through a ten-inch screen. 

The only times Roman’s father could be bothered to show him any kind of attention where the times when Roman did something wrong. Every angry call from a school and subsequent meeting with a principal or administrator had ended the same way; Roman’s father would storm into the office, threat whomever he was meeting with legal action he actually had no means of bringing up, then grab his son by the arm and haul Roman outside, lamenting the boy’s “dark future” and wondering dramatically where he’d gone wrong as a father. He’d save screaming his head off until they were in their own home. 

Roman equated his father to a cannon with a lit fuse. The spark travelled closer and closer to the gunpowder everyday, waiting for the moments when Roman stepped out of line. Then, it would fire in a brilliant explosion of condemnations and predictions for what would happen next. Roman would never be successful, he would die alone, if he continued misbehaving he would end up in jail, he would never amount to anything, blah blah blah blah blah….

Father had plenty of time to yell. He just…never had any time to do anything else. 

Except work. There was always time for work. 

This last argument had been the biggest yet. It had started a week ago, with Roman deciding that two in the morning was the perfect time for a bit of fresh air. Nobody else was awake, and Roman figured he would be back before first light; so, he’d opened his window as wide as it could go and jumped out, landing on the balls of his feet with a dull thud. 

Everything had been alright for the first few hours. Roman had wandered away from the boring suburbia of his neighborhood and into the small town just a half a mile away. The streets had been empty (save for the occasional raccoon) and all had been quiet; the perfect environment for a teenager looking to ponder life’s complexities, as well as possible combinations for the lock on his parents’ liquor cabinet. The trouble had started with the sounds of breaking glass, a high-pitched alarm slicing through the still air like a hot knife through butter, and someone screaming for the police. 

Roman, natural curiosity overpowering logic, had gone to see what all the commotion was about. He’d been slightly disappointed when, instead of a grizzly murder or a mass of Grimm feasting on innocent townsfolk, he’d found only a shopfront with the glass door in pieces and the owner already giving his statement to the police. 

“….thought he understood,” Roman heard the man say, “I can't have one of them working in my store! Not with all the unrest going on with those White Fang terrorists!” 

“Sir,” the officer asked, “did you use those exact words?” 

“I….” a look of shame crossed the shop owner’s features, “yes, I suppose I did.” 

Roman had meant to keep quiet, crouching behind the officer’s vehicle to avoid being seen, but he couldn’t help snorting out a laugh at the admission. What a moron, he’d thought, saying that to the guy’s face!! 

Unfortunately, the officer had heard him, and the next thing Roman knew, he’d been in the back seat of the car, being driven home to the sounds of a lecture on how dangerous it was to be out alone in the middle of the night and how he had no business being at the crime scene. 

Roman’s father’s face had turned a brand-new shade of red at the sight of his son standing in his doorway with a police officer. After several hours of “blah blah blah shame to this family blah blah have no son blah blah blah kill your mother blah blah blah,” Roman had been promptly grounded and confined to his room to “consider the ramifications of his actions.” 

Right. Like that would hold him.

Roman had, for his part, dutifully stayed in his room…after the next night, when he’d snuck out again and his father had nailed the window shut. He’d sat on his bed, bored stiff but blissfully unbothered by his parents, and watched the days slide by, a few hours at a time. When Roman grew bored, he would pull out one of the many sharp objects he kept stashed around and scratch filthy words and pictures into his walls. 

“Decorating.” He called it. Somehow, the obscenities made this space feel a little more his.  
This hobby had satisfied Roman up until a few hours ago, when his father had come home from work and called him downstairs for a “family meeting.” 

Roman had entered the seldom-used dining room, sitting across from his father and noting that his mother, as usual, was absent. 

“Son,” Father started, “before I begin, let me just say, I’ve given this a fair bit of thought.” 

“Just you?” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

Roman slouched in his chair, crossing his arms in front of him. “Did Mother give whatever it is a fair bit of thought, too?” 

His father cleared his throat, no doubt in an attempt to keep his temper in control. “I have no doubt that your mother will agree with my decision.” He replied. 

Roman couldn’t resist poking the tiger again, just a little. “Doesn’t that sort of depend on the decision? I mean, if you decided to move us to Vacuo, I think she’d go along with it well-enough; but, if you…I don’t know, decided to burn down the house with us in it, then-“ 

“Roman, that’s enough!” Father thundered, reaching the end of his rope, “This attitude of yours has gotten out of hand! Getting kicked out of school last year was bad enough, but sneaking out at night? Getting escorted home by the police?! And then you still didn’t learn your lesson!!” He paused for breath. “Nothing we’re trying seems to be getting through to you!!” 

Roman blinked in surprise. “You’ve been trying?!” He snapped, “How, Dad? How have you and Mother been trying?! By sending me to a new school every time I get into trouble?! By never being home?! By telling your friends I’m ‘still figuring things out’ and I ‘just need to grow up a little?’ Or maybe you’ve been ‘trying’ by filling my head with your fake upper-class crap!!” 

“YOU WILL NOT TAKE THAT TONE OF VOICE WITH ME!!” Father jumped to his feet, knocking over his chair. 

Roman kept his tone even, standing up gracefully and laying his palms flat on the table. “I’ll take any damn tone I want.” He challenged. “You’re not around enough for me to consider you my father. You’re nothing but a stranger to me!” 

“Well then,” Father’s voice became frighteningly calm, “you should have no trouble accepting what I have to tell you next. You’re leaving.” Roman drew back a bit in surprise. Father continued, “A friend of mine told me about a military program run by a man named Ironwood. The program accepts troubled youth and helps them make something of themselves. You’re going.” 

Roman shook his head in disbelief. “I’m not.” He whispered. 

“Yes, Roman,” Father countered, “you are. I’m registering you tomorrow and you’ll be leaving next week.”  
“Not if I’m not here next week.” Roman glowered at his father. 

“What are you going to do?” Father asked, amused, “Run away? Live on the streets? You know that’s not the sort of life you’re cut out for. You think you’re a tough guy?” Roman nodded, tersely. “You think you’re some sort of fighter?” 

“I think I can be.” 

Father laughed out loud. “Roman,” he chuckled, “you’re fourteen years old! You weigh a hundred and twelve pounds soaking wet, and you’ve never held anything larger than a kitchen knife! Believe me, you wouldn’t last twelve hours out on your own! By nightfall, you’d be begging us to let you come home.” 

“Well then you really don’t know me at all, do you?!” Roman exclaimed, face burning. “I’ll disappear before you even realize I’ve left! I’ll…” he thought for a minute, before settling on something he’d decided when he was little, “I’ll join the huntsmen!” 

Father’s eyes grew as large as dinner plates. For a moment, there was silence; and then Father laughed again, so hard tears came to his eyes. “You…you’ll join the huntsmen!” He guffawed, loudly, “You will join a team of monster-hunters!!!” The harder Father laughed, the more Roman hated him. “Sure, sure!” Father wiped a few tears from his eyes, “And then you’ll rescue a damsel from a tower and live happily ever after!! Oh, Roman,” he finally regained composure, “you really do just believe anything you read in books, don’t you? The huntsmen are just a bunch of weirdos and rejects who fancy themselves heroes! They screw around in the woods and call glorified games of make-believe ‘productivity!’ Sounds like a perfect job for you! Go ahead!” 

“You know what?!” Roman exclaimed, “It does! At least they’d give a crap about me!! At least they’d care!!’ 

“Oh my gods,” Father rolled his eyes, “do you have any idea how immature you sound, right now?! They’d care?! Roman, if you want someone to care about you, you have to earn it! People won’t just fawn over you because you think you deserve their respect! Earning admiration takes a lifetime of hard work! It takes effort! A lot more than you’re willing to show!” Roman bristled at his words, too angry to respond. “Even with those self-aggrandizing hicks,” Father continued, “it’s a job, Roman. It’s work! You’d have to be willing to get your hands dirty, and you are not that type of person! You don’t know the value of work! You don’t appreciate what it means to work your ass off to accomplish something! You just expect the world to give you everything without asking anything from you in return! Face it, Son, you’re living in your own little fantasy world. It’s time to wake up to reality! The real world is a lot colder than you think it is. It doesn’t care about spirit, and it certainly doesn’t care about rebels and criminals with nothing to offer!”

Roman stormed out of the dining room, ears ringing with the sounds of Father’s words. The huntsmen were real, and he knew it. They had to be! The Grimm were real enough! Surely there had to be a few people skilled enough to keep them in check! 

And as for the world not caring about him…

Roman’s mind raced at that thought. It was possible that that could be the one thing Father was right about. Maybe Roman’s unwillingness to conform was bound to get him into trouble. 

A small smile crept across Roman’s face. Maybe trouble was what he needed, though. 

One thing Father was wrong about: he was willing to work! He would bust his ass to make a name for himself…and if he made a little noise along the way, upset the delicate balance of Society, would that be so terrible? 

Maybe the world really didn’t care about him. 

Well then, maybe Roman didn’t care about the world, either. 

He slammed the door to his bedroom behind him and made a beeline for his window, trying desperately to get it open before he remembered his father had nailed it shut. Consumed with frustration, the wiry fourteen-year-old sent his foot through the glass, breaking a hole into it large enough for him to crawl through. So now, here he was, ready to escape from this gaudy prison with nothing but the clothes on his back. If living on the streets in poverty meant never having to hear his father yell at him for being a screw-up again, Roman would take it. There was nothing here for him anymore, if there ever had been in the first place. 

The streets weren’t meant for people like his parents. 

They were meant for people like him. 

—————————————————————————————————————————— 

Roman knew, as soon as his feet hit the ground, where he would go first. He wanted to see the crime scene again; to check if the yellow tape that had been placed around the store was still there. 

If it was, he wanted to rip it down. 

Strolling along the quiet street he’d grown up on, Roman felt a strange kind of euphoria. Now that he was done with his family, completely liberated and striking out on his own, there was nothing stopping him from never coming back here again. His father wasn’t chasing after him (Because why would he? What would the neighbors think? Ugh, appearances blah blah blah), there were no police in sight, and the few neighbors who were outside only watched Roman for as long as they needed to be sure he wasn’t coming onto their properties. 

Roman had no ties here. He could just…go. 

Exiting the neighborhood, it didn’t take long for him to find his way back to the store. Unfortunately, the yellow tape had already been removed. Roman had figured that would be the case. The faunus responsible for the attack had been arrested a few days ago, ending any threat the shop owner had been in fear of. 

Damn, he thought, fingers twitching a bit, and after I got my hopes up. 

The sounds of laughter met Roman’s ears just in time for him to see a group of older boys enter the store. They were dressed in clothes a bit dirtier than his, and their shoes looked old and almost worn-out, but the way they carried themselves…it was like these kids were princes. Their heads were held high, shoulders squared and backs straight in a way which suggested unquestioned confidence. They moved like a pack, nudging each other and speaking with their heads close together so nobody could overhear them as they schemed amongst themselves. 

There was something else Roman noticed about them; something they had that he didn’t think he’d ever wanted. 

There was a camaraderie among them; a sense of unity he now realized he had always craved. 

Following the boys into the store, Roman was relieved to discover that the owner wasn’t around. A strung-out looking cashier stood behind the counter, not putting much effort into watching the boys as they made their way through the store. There wasn’t much here to steal; a few basics, some cheap junk food; run-of-the-mill, one-use-only convenience store garbage. Roman didn’t pay it much mind. He hadn’t come here to steal (he didn’t think he was quite that ready yet), and right now, he was much more interested in observing the newest subjects of his curiosity. 

“Psst!” The obvious leader summoned the youngest member of his pack over to a shelf filled with pill bottles. “Still got issues with headaches, Jay?” He tossed the kid a small cardboard box. 

“Thanks, Man.” Roman heard Jay murmur as he stowed the box in a backpack he’d been carrying. 

Roman tried to keep his head down so it wasn’t obvious he was watching the interaction. Unfortunately, his shoulder hit a metal stand holding several old magazines. A few copies of something Roman was sure his father kept hidden from his mother fell onto the shiny linoleum floor, and the resulting noise was enough to grab the attention of the leader and Jay. 

The leader of the pack hurried over to Roman, grabbing his shoulder and shoving something small and metal into his hand. “You got folks to go back to, Kid?” The older boy whispered. 

“Not anymore.” Roman answered, simply. 

“Keep that, then.” Roman opened his hand to find a silver lighter. Two red antlers, curved to form a sort of open circle, had been painted on the front. The design, despite being bit faded (no doubt from years of sitting on a shelf) was surprisingly striking. “You never saw us and we never saw you.” The older boy explained. “Let that remind you. If you snitch on us, I’ll make sure the feds think you’re the one that stole it.” 

Roman met his eyes, completely unafraid. “I’m not a snitch.” He stated. The boy nodded and walked away, satisfied. A moment later, Roman followed the rest of the pack out. 

The cashier never even gave them a second glance. 

For the first time in his life, Roman could honestly say he’d never felt more alive.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winters suck, rules are broken, and clothing store dressing rooms turn out to be great places to find jackets

[Twelve months later] 

Gods dammit, Roman thought bitterly, last winter wasn’t this bad, was it? 

The truth was a tough pill to swallow. In reality, this winter was no worse than the first one he’d spent on his own, but this time Roman didn’t have reliable shelter. 

Starting out, he’d been just pathetic-looking enough to elicit some sympathy from gullible townsfolk. They’d take him in, he’d spend a night or two out of the elements, and then he’d leave with whatever small valuable thing he didn’t think they’d miss. Rinse and repeat a few times, and he’d gotten through the coldest months without too much hardship. 

Now? It was like they’d all somehow gotten smarter! 

Assholes. 

Everyone he approached pretended they didn’t see him. Every doorway he lingered in, he was turned away from. It had become frustrating that Roman was tempted to allow himself to be arrested. At least then, he’d be under a roof. 

There was, however, one up-side to the townsfolk not paying attention. 

When Roman had begun living on his own, he’d been decent at petty theft. He could move quickly enough that, more often than not, he was out the door with whatever he needed before the shopkeepers and cashiers he targeted even noticed he’d been there. Stealing things from shelves came as easy as breathing to him. 

It was when what he wanted was moving that things got tricky. 

Roman had never been particularly good at stealth. He was quiet, certainly, but it wasn’t always hard to notice him if one really paid attention; as one was inclined to do when one saw a teenager with bright-red hair following an oblivious stranger through a crowded street. It had happened more times than Roman was proud to admit that he’d had to abandon his marks, shrugging off his actions as merely bumping into people by accident and getting jostled. His hands hadn’t really been in their pockets. He’d just accidentally brushed against them. Once the now-suspicious target was adequately mollified, Roman would have to watch resentfully as yet another full wallet disappeared from his grasp. 

Now, with everyone trying their damnedest not to pay him any attention, Roman found that pickpocketing had suddenly become quite a bit easier. All he had to do was make like he was pleading with his victims to let him stay with them for “just one night.” He’d grab their coattails or sleeves, keep their attention on his crocodile-tear stained face, and their wallets seemed to fly into his hands as if pulled there by magnets. 

It was enough to make Roman feel just a bit smug. 

Just a bit, though. He still couldn’t escape the cold. 

He’d managed to steal a jacket for himself at the beginning of the season. Once the weather had begun to grow colder, Roman had retreated into a nearby clothing store; lingering by the changing rooms and waiting for distracted customers to leave things behind. For a few hours, it looked like this trip would be a bust. The morning shoppers, most still buzzed from coffee, kept their belongings in their sights at all times; and the afternoon shoppers seldom spent enough time in the store to warrant trying anything on. Most of them just browsed the shelves for a few minutes and then left. It wasn’t until the late-afternoon and evening crowds came in that Roman got lucky. 

They were mostly all young people, just getting out of school and looking to blow off steam before heading home to parents and responsibilities. They shopped with laser-focus on the task at hand, only choosing those items they didn’t think would reveal physical flaws for their peers to point out. All Roman had to do was pretend to be one of them. He’d watch them through the gaps in the clothing racks and wait until someone entered a dressing room, then he’d enter once they were done trying on clothes they could buy with their parents’ money. It was in these moments, when the shoppers’ arms were full of selections, that things got left behind; usually the less desirable version of something they were going to buy; the cheaper jacket or the shirt that was out of season now that stripes were out and plaid was in. 

A boy around Roman’s age had left the jacket behind, lamenting that he didn’t like it anymore now that the sports team he’d once rooted for had lost some big game. Roman wrinkled his nose at the excuse. It wasn’t like there were any logos on the jacket! The kid’s complaint basically boiled down to not liking the colors anymore! 

Whatever; it was the boy’s loss. 

Roman liked the jacket well enough. It was a bit light for the current weather and did nothing to keep the wind at bay, but the red-and-black color scheme was interesting, and it was better than nothing. 

Plus, extra pockets came in especially handy nowadays.

Roman fell into a pattern quickly, hoping that repetition would make the days pass without him noticing. He’d steal a few wallets, empty them of anything valuable, keep the paper money for himself, and sell everything else. He’d learned early on that black market dealers paid handsomely for identification cards they could “repurpose” for their own customers, but credit cards were a bit harder to move. The more careful criminals wouldn’t even touch stolen plastic, but those who were newer to life on the streets could be relied on to take the hot cards off Roman’s hands. He’d grind out a little extra profit now and then and use what he earned to keep himself alive, but it was never enough. He was still just a small fish in a big pond, and if he wanted to avoid becoming chum, some of the bigger fish insisted on being compensated. 

Hell, some feds even expected a cut. 

Their conditions were clear; either Roman paid up or he ended up behind bars. 

The jerks even had the gall to call what they were doing “confiscation” so they couldn’t be implicated in accepting bribes. 

It was a low moment in any street kid’s life when he realized that even the cops had things figured out more than he did. 

Roman couldn’t complain too much about his position, though. He’d been out on his own for a full year now, and he’d proven his father wrong. He had no wish to return to his parents’ house. 

Roman, though he was in a perpetual state of freezing his ass off, was content. 

It was on a day that should have been run-of-the-mill that he learned the first of many lessons that would stick with him.

Roman was patrolling his usual haunts, watching for easy prey and out-of-towners who were doing themselves no favors by constantly checking that their wallets were safe. He’d already stolen a thin leather case from a man he swore his father worked with (though the name on the ID card didn’t ring any bells) and managed to convince a twitchy-looking eleven-year-old to take the man’s credit cards. Sure Roman hadn’t made any money from unloading the cards, but he also hadn’t been the one the police had picked up moments later and shoved into the back seat of a squad car, so…silver lining. 

He found he was growing bored with stealing wallets, now. It was becoming too easy. There was no thrill anymore; no risk. Roman decided, as he watched a stocky-looking young man talking a bit too loudly on his scroll, that branching out was needed. After all, how hard could stealing scrolls be? They weren’t much bigger than wallets, and everyone had them out all the time. All Roman had to do was knock them out of the hands which held them and scoop them up before he was seen. 

He followed the loud man for a few minutes, waiting for his chance. Up ahead, an icy patch looked to offer the perfect opportunity to knock Roman’s prey on his ass. Roman sped up a bit, to ensure he was close enough when the “accidental collision” occurred. He could practically feel his pulse jumping as the man moved closer and closer to the ice, until finally he was just close enough! 

Roman stepped onto the ice patch and pivoted his body so he would slam into the man’s arm, sending them both crashing to the ground and causing the scroll to fly from the man’s hand and skid a few inches away. While his mark was still disoriented from the fall, Roman quickly scooped the valuable piece of technology under his jacket, keeping it in place with an arm he pretended to cradle against himself as if he’d been injured. 

“Hey, Kid, are you okay?” the man got to his feet, extending a hand to help Roman up. Playing up how “hurt” he was, Roman sniffled a bit, keeping his arm securely in place. “I’m really sorry about that!” The stranger smiled at him, “I didn’t even notice the ice!” 

“It’s okay,” Roman whimpered, widening his eyes to give himself a more innocent appearance, “it happens all the time. I’m used to it.” 

“Do you need a doctor?” The man glanced at his arm, “You look like you’re hurt.” 

“I’m okay. I just banged my elbow on the pavement.” Roman spared his poor, gullible target one last pathetic smile before turning and hurrying away. 

Once he was a safe distance from the scene, Roman dropped the act; sinking down onto a nearby park bench and pulling out the stolen scroll. He frowned at the state of it. The screen was cracked down the side, which would significantly lower its overall street value. Still, Roman knew there was bound to be somebody who would pay for it. It wasn’t completely destroyed. 

The sound of approaching footsteps made Roman freeze for a moment. He relaxed visibly when he considered that there had been no witnesses to what he had done, and felt even more at ease when the person who sat down next to him wasn’t a cop, but a rather muscular looking man who was dressed almost as shabbily as he was. 

“Hey,” Roman greeted, “you new in town?” 

The man smiled and shook his head. “No,” he replied, “but you obviously are.” He glanced down at the scroll. “Did you steal that just now?” 

“That depends. Are you a cop?” 

“Do I look like a fed to you?” 

“Listen,” Roman defended himself, “I’d be an idiot if I didn’t ask.” 

“You’re an idiot either way.” The man’s smile became a bit sadder. “Damn,” he cursed softly, “I really hate this part.” 

“What part?” Roman steeled himself. 

The man got to his feet, stretching out a bit like he was preparing for a fight. “The part,” he explained, “where I have to teach you what happens when you come into my neighborhood and try to take business from me.” 

“Hey now,” Roman stood, leaving the scroll on the bench, “I haven’t tried-“ 

His words were cut off by a swift punch to the jaw. One second he’d been on his feet, the next he was staring up at the man from flat on his stomach. “You’re just a punk,” the man flexed his hand bit before grabbing Roman by the collar and pulling him up so his feet were off the ground, “So I’m not gonna kill you this time.” Roman fought wildly as the beating continued, trying not lose consciousness the second he was thrown back to the ground and his head hit frozen dirt. “But you’ve. Got. To. Learn,” the man continued, punctuating his words with hard kicks to Roman’s ribs, “How to respect,” the next kick connected under Roman’s jaw, throwing his head back, “Your superiors!” 

“Alright!” Roman gasped out once he’d reached his limit, “Alright…you win this round!” He struggled to get to his feet, vision blurry. “But I’m gonna want…a rematch…someday!” 

The man sighed, heavily. “You know,” he considered Roman carefully, “I think I’ve heard about you. You’ve done business with some of the hot shots downtown, right?” 

“Uh huh.” Roman replied dumbly, still trying to regain his balance. 

“Some of the people you work with speak highly of you. They say you’re smart, you’re speedy, you can rip off a dozen wallets a day without breaking a sweat. Take my advice,” the man placed his hands on Roman’s shoulders to steady him, “stick with that. Don’t try to be something you’re not. You’ll live longer that way.” He managed to lock eyes with Roman. “Am I getting through to you, Tough Guy?” 

“Yeah,” Roman said, “sure.” 

“Oh, and one more thing.” The man picked up the scroll and slid it into his pocket before holding out a hand. “I think you owe me for the lesson.” 

“Ah, go screw an ursa!” Roman shot back, “You look enough like one!” 

“Seriously?” The man raised an eyebrow.   
Roman braced himself for the incoming punch, but preparing didn’t make it hurt any less. What hurt even more was the sudden feeling of being robbed as the man went through his pockets. 

Roman guessed he understood now why other people looked so upset when they caught him doing this. 

“It’s nothing personal, Kid,” the man stood, leaving him on the ground this time, “it’s just, you’ve gotta learn to play by the rules.” 

“I make my own rules.” 

“Sure you do.”

Roman kept his head down, hands clenching into fists as he heard the man walk away. Just when he’d thought he was getting good at this, he’d screwed everything up! it was too late to start over today! He’d have to give up for now and find somewhere safe(ish) to spend the night. 

Wandering back into town, Roman couldn’t help but feel like a failure. This had easily been one of the worst days he’d experienced since leaving his parents, and it felt like everyone around him knew that. He practically stank of shattered confidence. 

Roman refused to let the day end like this. He had to achieve something. He couldn’t just slink back into the shadows with his proverbial tail between his legs. 

Maybe snatching one more wallet would help his foul mood. 

But who to…. Roman stopped short. 

It was almost too good to be true.

She looked to be in her mid-twenties, and it was obvious from the way she carried herself that she was a huntress; back straight, dark brown hair fixed into a tight ponytail, tacky and not-at-all-subtle choice of accessory (because seriously, who would carry an umbrella in mid-Winter) and a sense of style that only someone who killed monsters for a living could pull off. A long, white, double-breasted coat and matching vest covered her athletic frame, the brightness of the cloths contrasting nicely with her deeply-tanned skin. The gold accents along the edges of the fabric suggested someone who came from a wealthy family, but the wear and tear told Roman the clothes were secondhand. The sleeves of her coat covered the ends of brown and gold gloves to keep the cold from hitting her wrists, and a pair of simple black pants revealed that she was as active as she looked, given that they appeared to be made out of a material that moved and stretched easily. 

It was a bit strange to Roman, however, that she appeared to be wearing high-heeled boots. Surely those weren’t ideal for running, were they? The heels were chunky enough to where Roman imagined they provided good support for balance, but…what if she had to run?!

Or was this the sort of person who never ran; who stood her ground and fought?

The huntress was standing outside the clothing store where Roman had “found” his jacket, looking around and tapping her foot impatiently as if she was waiting for someone. A sudden gust of wind kicked up, almost yanking the fancy black hat she was wearing right off of her head. With impressively fast reflexes, the woman reached up just a moment after the hat caught air and pulled it back down, fastening it into place with a pin she’d produced from her pocket. 

Roman couldn't help but stare. 

He wasn’t attracted to her! Gods no, it was nothing like that! It was just…her. She was just the sort of person who fascinated him. She was eye-catching. 

A few moments later, a man who looked to be a few years younger than the huntress (though still older than Roman) came out of the clothing store, breaking the spell. There was nothing particularly special about him. Messy black hair and a wardrobe sponsored by the color grey were nothing to take second glances at. The most interesting thing about him was the massive weapon he carried, like he wasn’t even bothering to hide the fact that he was armed. 

“Done flirting with the cashier already, Branwen?” Roman heard the huntress tease her companion. 

“Shut up,” the man answered, “I was just asking questions.” 

“So, she turned you down?” 

“You know what, Victoria?” The man turned and started talking to her while walking backward. “If you’re so concerned about my love life, you do something about it.” 

Show-off, Roman wrinkled his nose, at least have a little dignity if you’re going to be dressed like that.

He had to wait until the huntsman turned around before he could make his move. Roman had never tried to pickpocket a huntsman or huntress before, but he bet it was a hell of a lot harder than stealing from the average sucker. He’d need to act quickly; in and out without a single mistake. 

Roman could tell, from the moment he approached, that this wasn’t going to work. 

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. He came up alongside the huntress, trying to keep his gaze straight ahead so she wouldn’t know he was focusing on her. His hand found the pocket of her coat at the same time her hand wrapped around his arm, just hard enough to stop him in his tracks. 

“What are you doing?” She asked softly, no trace of anger in her voice. Dark brown eyes searched Roman’s face, as if the answer was written on his brow. In that moment he truly believed it was. 

“I…I was just-“ Roman stammered, lost for words for the first time in his life. 

“You were just trying to find whatever I have in my pocket.” It wasn’t a question. “You should know then, I don’t carry money anywhere that’s easy to get to. If you wanted to rob me, you’d have to work a lot harder.”

“I wasn’t…I wasn’t trying to-“ 

“Oh, come on,” now she looked a bit angry, “don’t make things worse by lying.” 

“Victoria!” Roman cursed under his breath as the huntress’ male companion noticed what was happening and hurried to her side, “What’s going on?” His gaze moved from her hand to Roman’s face. “Is this punk causing trouble?”

“It’s fine, Qrow,” Victoria assured him, “I’ve got everything under control. It was just a misunderstanding.” She let go of Roman’s arm. 

Qrow turned his attention to Roman, shoving him away roughly. “Keep walkin’, Kid!” He ordered, “We’ve got nothin’ for you! Move on!” 

Roman glowered at him, murderously. “Yeah, she doesn’t,” he challenged, “but what about you, huh Tough Guy?” 

“Mind your manners.” Qrow warned. “You don’t wanna pick a fight with me.” 

“Okay, that’s enough!” Victoria got between them, pulling her companion away before Roman could take the swing he felt this self-righteous dick badly deserved. “Kid,” her voice brought him back to reality, “go on, get out of here. It’s getting dark. These streets aren’t safe at night.” 

Roman stepped back a bit, surprised by the concern in her voice. What did this chick care if he was out after dark? “Uh…” he struggled for the right words, “thanks for the warning?” 

Victoria and Qrow walked away, leaving Roman thoroughly confused. This wasn’t how thefts usually went. Targets didn’t usually warn him about how dangerous the streets were! Usually they just looked at him like they knew he was what made the the streets so dangerous! 

But then, nothing about what had just happened was “usual.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two has now concluded! @silly-fly and I are having a blast developing this story, and you can bet there's even more to come!   
> Comment below to tell us what you think of everything so far. This is the first time we're rolling out our OC Victoria. Hope you love her as much as we do!   
> For reference (in case it wasn't clear) at this point Roman is fifteen, Qrow is twenty-two, and Victoria is in her mid-twenties.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past bails Roman out of a bad situation.

The winter passed without incident from that day on. Roman had to admit, his encounter with the huntress had left his confidence a bit shaken. How had she noticed what he was doing so quickly? Could it have just been her training that had given her the edge? 

No, he decided, there was something else; an intensity in her stare that had made him hesitant to even attempt finishing the job. 

It was a bitch to admit, but…on some level, Roman had been intimidated by her.

As the weather began to warm up and the biting cold of the wind eased, Roman looked forward to a new season. More temperate weather meant more tourists, and more tourists meant more targets. 

He would have to step up his game a bit. the months spent of his own had brought out a hardness to Roman’s features, gradually erasing the childish innocence he had relied on when first starting out. His hair, once kept short so nobody would think his parents allowed him to look “scruffy,” now hung almost to his shoulders, covering his ears and giving him an overall unkempt appearance. If Roman really used his imagination, and held back the bangs which had begun to fall in his face, he thought his eyes looked a bit brighter, as well. The green stood out more against the smooth paleness of his complexion. He was now, physically, as feral as he had always felt. He couldn’t play the cute but unfortunate boy anymore. Nobody would buy that. 

Roman needed a new angle; something he could rely on to get him what he wanted. If “cute” wouldn’t work anymore…

At this moment, Roman caught a reflection of himself in a window. 

Charming, he decided, raising one eyebrow to give himself a slightly more roguish appearance, charming will work. 

“Hey, Ginge!” An unpleasant voice caught Roman’s attention, “When you’re done admiring yourself, there’s someone here who wants to talk to you!”

Roman turned away from the window and crossed the street to where a group of people he recognized (including a few he thought were supposed to be locked up) were waiting for him. They were all low-level criminals, petty thieves like him, but their age gave them dominance Roman didn’t have. He was supposed to consider himself lucky that people like this, all with at least twenty years of experience under their belts, even let him help out on jobs. 

Roman knew the truth, though. 

He was smarter than all of them combined. 

That was why groups like this, pockets of criminals who fancied themselves mobsters, used Roman so sparingly. He could do whatever they needed him to do, but he wouldn’t hesitate to make sure they looked stupid for not being able to do things themselves. He was indispensable, a hired thug who was hired by thugs, but he’d also gained a reputation for being a smart-ass. 

“Need something, Duke?” Roman haunted over to the leader of the group. 

“How would you like to be part of a real job?” 

“What’s wrong?” Roman joked, “You can’t get one of your own men to fill the position?” 

“Watch it, Punk,” one of Duke’s lackeys (Dodger, Roman thought) stepped forward, “if it weren’t for us, you wouldn’t have made it through the Winter.”

Roman was slightly offended by that. “I’m sure I would have managed.” 

Duke rolled his eyes, clearly impatient. “Do you want the job or not?” He snapped, “I have other stuff to do today! If you’re not interested-!” 

“I never said I wasn’t interested.” Roman cut him off. “I’ll do it, but not for my usual ten percent. Bump it up to thirty.” 

“How about twenty,” Duke extended his hand, “and I promise to make sure the feds don’t connect this to you.” 

Roman stood firm. “They couldn’t connect it to me anyway.” He asserted, “My terms stand. I want thirty percent of the profit.” 

“We’ll find someone else.” 

“You know there’s nobody else who can do what I do. You need me.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Kid,” Dodger scoffed, “there are dozens of little snots like you who’re looking for work!” 

“Dodge, shut up!” Duke exclaimed. Roman could see in his eyes that he knew his bluff had been called. “Fine! You’ll get your thirty percent!” Roman grinned, victorious, “But,” Duke added as they shook hands, “don’t count on us covering for you when the cops start asking questions. Come on,” he gestured for Roman to follow him, “let’s talk business somewhere we won’t be overheard.” 

Roman followed Duke and his gang down a series of streets and alleyways. Part of him knew how phenomenally stupid it was to be willingly alone with a man he had just strong-armed into a negotiation (and one who, if he wanted, could break every bone in Roman’s body with only minimal help from his men), but this was part of the job. Duke had to know he could trust Roman to follow any directions without question or hesitation. This was how trust was built and confirmed. 

The crew finally stopped in front of a rusted-out metal door. Dodger, with a superior look on his face that Roman wanted badly to erase, took out a set of keys and had the door open in mere moments. “Through here.” he instructed, placing a hand on Roman’s chest to stop him just before he entered. “You’re getting a bit of an ego, Ginge.” He sneered, “I’m not sure you’re head’ll fit, what with all the unearned praise that’s been going to it lately.” 

“Screw off!” Roman elbowed past him. 

They’d gathered in what appeared to be an old meat processing plant. Hooks hung from the ceiling, the concrete floor was stained with things Roman didn’t particularly want to think about, and there was a lingering stench of dread, death, and rot which permeated every inch of this disgusting place. It was obviously being used as a base of operations; a large map of the town and surrounding areas had been spread across the expanse of a rickety card table and was currently covered in notes. Roman had to admit, he was a bit impressed. From the looks of the paperwork, Duke and his band of idiots had obviously been preparing. 

But, could they have done it somewhere a little less…repulsive? 

“Well, I’ll commend you,” Roman told Duke, “this is certainly out of the way of prying ears.” 

“Grossed out, Kid?” Duke asked, amused at his displeased expression. 

“No,” Roman looked around, “but I think I just became a vegetarian. Let’s hurry up and get the specifics out of the way. I don’t like the idea of being here any longer than I have to be.” 

“Alright!” Duke clapped his hands together, eagerly. “Let’s talk business, then.” He approached the table, giving the map his full attention. “I don’t want you to think that this heist is any different from the others we’ve included you in,” He told Roman. “It’s not. There’s just more money to be made this time. See that?” Willy pointed to a green rectangle of land that was just outside the town line. “That’s an airfield.” 

“I didn’t think there were any airfields around here.” Roman admitted. “Aren’t those usually reserved for larger cities? Why would anyone who can afford an airship come here? We’re barely a town!” 

“Nobody looks twice at our little slice of life.” Duke appeared to agree with him, “That’s why this is the perfect place to hide things nobody wants found.” 

Roman regarded him for a moment, sensing that something wasn’t quite right. “What exactly are we stealing?” He asked. 

“We,” Dodger interjected, “aren’t stealing anything. You are to keep watch and make sure we aren’t interrupted.” 

“Willy,” Roman ignored Dodger, “seriously. What’s so important that it can’t be transported by cargo ship?” 

“We’re not entirely sure, to be honest.” Duke confessed. “The person who told us didn’t get specifics.” 

“A few months ago,” Dodger added, “a buddy of mine saw a couple of huntsmen nosing around. He followed ‘em, listened to every word they said; apparently, there’s gonna be a shipment of weapons coming in tomorrow night.” 

“We’ve moved weapons before.” Roman found he was losing interest. “What’s so special about these ones?” 

“Weren’t you listening?” Dodger scolded him, “These aren’t just standard weapons! We’re not just ripping off Ironwood’s shipments again; this is huntsman crap we’re after!” 

“Wait…” Roman suddenly realized what was being said, “we’re planning on stealing Academy shipments?!” 

“Like you said, Kid,” Drew shrugged, “we’ve already done the standard fare. It’s time we moved up in the world.” 

“By fencing weapons nobody would have.” Roman put the pieces together. “We’d be legends in the black market if we manage to pull this off!” 

“There’s no ‘if.’ We either succeed or we spend the rest of our lives in maximum security.” Dodger explained. “If we fail, if you let us get caught,” he stared Roman down, “we’re all dead. This is a capitol offense, Ginge.” 

“Then, it’s a good thing you turned to the best man for the job.” 

“For your sake,” Duke glared at him, “I sincerely hope that’s true.”

—————— 

The next day, Roman could barely focus on pickpocketing. He couldn’t believe this was real! He was really going to assist in a heist that involved stealing Academy tech! 

Roman felt a bit like he’d just moved up in the world. 

He spent the day in a sort of haze, not concentrating on anything particular, just sort of killing time until night fell. He would be expected to make his own way to the airfield, since Duke and the crew would be too busy preparing for the job and Roman would have to find the perfect vantage point to watch from before they got there. 

When the sun finally began to set after what felt like the longest day of Roman’s life, he took off running toward the town line. This is it! He thought, feeling true excitement for the first time in…pretty much ever, Roman realized. I’m finally going to be part of something real! 

He wasn’t just stealing from tourists or watching crates full of guns be unloaded this time! He would be witnessing the inception of his career as a black market tycoon! 

From this night on, Roman would be in the big leagues! He’d be the top dog, the alpha, the king of the streets! Nobody would ever underestimate him again! 

They’d all be too afraid of him to even dare. 

Roman was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he nearly ran headlong into a chain link fence, which was intended to separate the landing pad from the forest around it. Crouching low in the bushes, he could see the airship Duke and Dodger had been talking about. 

Roman frowned, a bit disappointed at what it looked like. 

It was so…ordinary. 

He didn’t know why, exactly, but he’d pictured more of a security presence, more flash, more…everything. The plane wasn’t even guarded! It was just sitting on the tarmac like a giant, silvery, dead bird. The windows were dark as well; in fact, everything was dark. The lights along the edge of the landing pad, the hanger nearby, and the windows of the ship itself were all completely dark, almost like nobody was planning to use them tonight. 

Those morons! Roman realized, They got the date wrong!! 

As Roman watched, blown away by the stupidity of people who should have been experts at what they did for a living, two security officers exited the hanger and approached the plane, talking amongst themselves. 

“This one?” The first officer looked at the plane incredulously, “They said he was planning to rob this?” 

“It’s the only plane here,” His partner shrugged, “and we don’t have any arrivals scheduled until next month.” 

“And you’re sure the caller said that kid was the one who was going to pull it off? The little ginger shit head who’s always harassing people and trying to steal their wallets?” 

“Yeah, the pickpocket.” 

“Son of a bitch!!” Roman cursed under his breath, trying to sneak away quietly. 

“Good thing we put Bole on patrol tonight.” The first officer stated. “If the kid is planning anything, we should have him by morning.” 

At that moment, Roman’s foot hit a branch. In a move he didn’t think actually happened in real life, everything around him went silent the moment the branch snapped under his weight. Carefully, as if he were removing himself from an active mine, Roman lifted his foot away from the traitorous twig, spun on his heel, and took off like a shot from a gun. He heard, distantly, someone nearby shout something along the lines of “hey you, stop,” but he just kept going. 

This was a problem Roman could deal with tomorrow. Bole the patrolman would just have to wait.   
——————

There were a whole host of dangers associated with being a teenager living on the streets: police, violence, civilians who thought they could all play “cop” if they managed to get their hands on you, the list was extensive. 

Normal people with normal problems had these things to worry about. 

Roman, it seemed, was one of the few who had something even worse to look forward to. 

“Who gets sick after the snow melts?” Some mouthy nine-year-old had had the stones to mock him as he sat in a doorway and watched the nearest drugstore. Roman had planted a stolen watch on the kid and gotten him arrested for that comment. 

Little shit, Roman smirked as the boy was hauled away, I hope you get the flu in prison. 

In the year and a half he’d spent on the street, this…alright, it wasn’t Roman’s lowest moment, but it was definitely down there; top ten at least. He’d gotten sick before and managed alright on his own, but he hadn’t been spending the majority of his time outside back then. Now, he had to find ways of keeping his temperature stable during the day and elevated at night; not easy, but not impossible. 

Well, not impossible under normal circumstances. 

Roman didn’t dare spend too long in public now, not since that night at the airfield. The cops were looking for him, that's for damn sure, and if he got sloppy, he got arrested. 

What was worse was that they’d started questioning everyone; and not just citizens. Roman had almost gotten picked up the morning after the fake heist when he’d approached someone he’d thought had been an ally of his. The moment the traitor saw him coming though, he’d made a bee line for a cop who’d been standing nearby. 

Being a wanted man who couldn’t even trust the rats he was surrounded by. This was Roman’s lowest moment. 

He wasn’t even scared of the police. Getting arrested would be awful, no doubt about that, but it wasn’t what kept Roman on the run. Fear wasn’t his motivator. 

Anger was. 

Roman hadn’t committed any crimes that night. Okay, maybe trespassing, but that was nothing new; and now he was being hunted like an escaped convict, all because Duke and his crew of snakes had gotten their feelings hurt one too many times!

What a load of crap!! 

Roman managed to keep his head down for several days. He didn’t draw attention to himself, he didn’t stand out, he didn’t even lift any wallets. He just blended into the shadows and hoped to the gods that everything would blow over soon; especially now that he could add caught the flu to the list of things that had gone wrong these past few days. 

——————

He wasn’t sure what day it was when he was caught. He only knew it had been at least a week since the non-heist. 

Honestly, Roman was a bit pleased when the officer approached him. Maybe being inside of a prison cell and out of the elements would knock this damn illness out of his system. 

He’d been considering biting the bullet and robbing the drugstore once and for all when the officer approached him. At first, the cop had looked smug; but upon closer inspection of Roman’s less-than-stellar condition, that cocksure smile had vanished completely.   
“You look like Hell.” He’d called to Roman, “Ready to come in, yet?” 

“Depends.” Roman tried to keep up a Devil-may-care attitude. “Did you people arrest Duke yet?” 

“Who’s Duke?” 

“Well, there’s your answer.” 

Roman turned and started walking away, but stopped when he felt a hand wrap around his arm. “I can’t let you go, Kid.” The officer sounded apologetic, “We have a warrant for your arrest.” 

“What’s the crime?” Roman asked, irritated. 

“Well, we’ve got you on trespassing. A patrolman saw you by the airfield a few nights ago; and then there’s the conspiracy to commit robbery, and I’m guessing a dozen other other crimes we can pin you for.” 

“Shove off, Fed!” Roman yanked his arm out of the man’s grip, “You’ve got nothing!!” 

“You’ve developed quite a reputation for yourself out here.” The officer stayed infuriatingly calm. “Why don’t you tell me your name? We can contact your parents, maybe help you turn things around.” 

“Contact my parents?!” Roman scoffed, “Sure! Go ahead and try to call them. See if they care! See if they give a damn that you found me! Better yet, see if they even answer the call!” 

“Alright,” the officer held up his hands, “alright, I understand your parents may not be an option, but there are resources-“ 

“Well thank gods for the resources, Officer!” Roman exclaimed, sarcasm dripping from every word, “So, what, you’re gonna save me or something?” He continued to mock, “Gonna rescue the poor boy from the mean streets and get his life back on track so he can become a fine, upstanding member of society like yourself? Go to Hell!” 

“This doesn’t have to be your life.” The cop made the mistake of placing his hand on Roman’s shoulder, “There are people in the world who want to help you, Son.” 

Rage flooded Roman’s mind at that last word. In a flash he’d grabbed the officer’s wrist and twisted it until he heard something within the flesh and muscle click a bit. “I am not your son!” He snarled, furiously. 

—————— 

There was no conscious moment of being placed, handcuffed, into the back of the officer’s car. Everything was sort of a blur. Roman believed he’d become so angry that he’d literally blacked out, but it could have also just been the illness that was making it hard to comprehend things. 

One thing was clear, though. 

Roman was going to jail for the first time in his life, but he wasn’t scared. 

He was grateful. 

Maybe he should be scared. Hell, maybe he should be absolutely terrified, but he wasn’t. Roman knew what to expect. He’d be hassled, almost-certainly beaten up, and he’d have no easy time convincing his fellow convicts that he was someone to be feared, but he would survive in the end; because he had to. 

Because he was certain that everyone who knew him expected him to die. 

Roman didn’t like meeting their expectations. 

“The judge is out of town,” the cop who led him to a holding cell informed him, “so, you’ll probably be in here for quite a long time before your trial.” 

“You people are actually bothering with a trial?” 

“Hey, Kid,” the cop glared at him, disapprovingly, “Do yourself a favor and keep that mouth of yours in check. It might win you respect on the streets, but in here it’ll only get you killed.” 

“Whatever.” 

Roman didn’t bother taking in his surroundings. Stone walls, scared-shitless juvenile delinquents trying to make themselves look either as small or as threatening as possible, nothing out of the ordinary or unexpected. The only thing he was at risk for in here was losing his mind out of boredom. If any of the kids in the cell with him tried anything, he had no doubt he could easily win in a fight with any of them; especially the ones who were trying just a bit too hard to look tough. 

Still, in spite of all his confidence, Roman didn’t sleep that night. 

He sat in a corner of his cell and he watched them. He watched these former “good kids” and imagined what their futures looked like. Maybe some of them had parents who were working to bail them out. Maybe some, like him, knew that was never going to happen. Hell, there might even be a few cases of mistaken identity in here. Some of these kids could be completely innocent. 

Yeah, right. 

By the time morning came, Roman realized he had been sitting in the same position for hours. It wasn’t until he tried to move that he learned this was a bad habit to get into, especially when one was sick. His muscles screamed in protest as he got to his feet, and his head felt like it was spinning out of control. If Roman hadn’t known better, he would swear he was experiencing a hangover. 

The officer who came and banged on the bars so loudly it gave him a migraine wasn’t helping matters, either. 

“Sorry about that, Kiddo!” The cop smirked, “I was just trying to get your attention.” 

“Asshole.” Roman muttered, “What do you want?!” 

“I came to tell you you’re leaving.” 

“What?” Roman shot him a look, “No I’m not. I just got here. The lady said the judge is out of town.” 

“He is. You’re being released.” 

Roman froze, sensing a trick. “You’re screwing with me,” he questioned, “aren’t you?” 

“Nope,” the officer entered his cell and led him out by the arm, “your teacher just came in. Told us the whole story. Why didn’t you say you were on a mission?” 

Now Roman knew he was being tricked. “I’m…not on a mission?”

“Sure you’re not.” The cop winked. 

As soon as they entered the visitors’ area, Roman’s jaw dropped to the floor. 

She sat there on a plastic stool, as casual as if she was in a park instead of a jailhouse. Her white coat, still spotless, sat around her shoulders like a cape. This was definitely the huntress Roman had met a few months ago, but…what the Hell was she doing here?! 

“As I was saying, Miss Brass,” the officer let Roman go and helped the woman to her feet, “we apologize for the confusion. When we couldn’t find any identification and he wouldn’t tell us his name, we suspected he may just be another street kid. We had no idea you’d stationed someone so young to protect the town.” 

“Yes, well, when we have prodigies we like to field them early.” Gods she was a smooth liar! “If there’s no other paperwork, my student and I should be going.” She turned to Roman, holding out a hand. “Come on. It’s time to leave.” 

“Uh…” Roman decided it was in his best interest to play along, “Yeah, sure!” He took her hand and she pulled him in close enough to hook an arm around his shoulders. 

“I’ll explain everything once we’re in the car.” The huntress whispered in his ear, “Just trust me, okay?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drug stores and car doors. That's all you're getting. Read the chapter XD

“Am I hallucinating?” 

“What?” 

“Right now. Am I hallucinating? Has this illness finally reached my brain?” 

“Not that I know of?” 

“….Then, why the Hell did I just get into your car?!” 

“Because you need me, and on some level you know that.” 

Roman had only known this woman for a grand total of less than ten minutes, and she was already one of the most infuriating people he’d ever met. What sort of bizarre spell had she cast to convince that cop that he was a student of hers?! The amount of holes in her story cause a dam to flood! In an instant, with no more explanation than just “yep, I know him, he’s mine,” she had convinced a police officer to release a wanted criminal into her care with no questions asked! Even more impressive, she’d talked Roman into joining her little facade with almost no effort! 

Just a whispered “Trust me”; that’s all it had taken. Now, because he was, apparently, dumb enough to trick, he was in her car with no idea of where this bizarre woman was taking him. 

“What?” The woman smiled at him, “No more questions?” 

“Just one.” Roman’s eyes met hers in the rearview mirror, “Where are we going?” 

“Don’t you think you should have asked that before getting into the back seat?” 

“Don’t you think you should have weighed the pros and cons before lying to the feds to get to me?” 

She chuckled at that. “Touchè.”

Roman sat back, staring out the window at the world passing by. For all he knew, this huntress was about to murder him and leave his body in a ditch as Grimm bait. Did Huntsmen and huntresses use bait? If they did, did they use humans? Was that even legal? 

Did huntsmen and huntresses follow normal-people laws? They had to, right? It wasn’t like they weren’t human…right? 

“Hey,” the woman reclaimed his attention, “is everything okay back there? You got quiet.” 

“I don’t have a lot to say,” Roman shrugged, “except, you never answered my question.” 

“We’re going to a drugstore nearby.” She explained, “I don’t like how pale you look right now.” 

“Gingers are naturally pale.” Roman replied, “It comes with the territory.” 

“Nice try.” He could see her roll her eyes in the mirror, “I know what it looks like when someone’s not well, Kid.” 

“Roman.”

“Hm?” 

“My name’s not Kid. It’s Roman. It’s just about the only decent thing my parents ever did for me, so I’d appreciate it being used.” He expected her to balk at the attitude in his voice. 

He should have known by now that this woman tended to do the opposite of what he expected. 

“Okay, Roman,” She stated, “I’ll try and keep that in mind. Thanks for letting me know.” 

“Okay, what the Hell are you?!” Roman accidentally let the exclamation slip out. 

“My name is Victoria. Victoria Brass.” 

“Yeah, I put that together, I meant-!” 

“You meant why am I being so nice?” She guessed, interrupting him. “Why aren't I treating you like gutter trash?” 

“Well…” Roman stammered, “yeah, sort of! You don’t even know me!” 

“Is there a rule that says I can only help people I know?” 

“No,” Roman answered her, “but, it’s generally understood that you don’t feed strays! Nobody else would be stupid enough to take a random kid into their lives, unless they’re planning to harvest his organs for resale. I’m guessing that’s not the plan, here?” 

“Ah, darn!” The woman exclaimed, sarcastically, “You guessed my evil plan! Clever you! How healthy are your kidneys?” 

“Shut up.” 

“I’m not planning to steal your organs!” She laughed, “Believe it or not, I just want to help you. You could have kicked up one hell of a fuss when we met, but you didn’t. You held back and walked away, and I admire that.”

Roman tried to understand exactly what she was saying. “So…” he began, “you decided to help me because I didn’t kick your boyfriend’s ass?” 

“First of all, that’s disgusting; Qrow and I would never. Second of all, yeah. He challenged you, you resisted, I respect that.” 

“Forgive the cynicism, but that doesn’t seem like a good-enough reason.” 

“What would be, then?” 

“I don’t know,” Roman admitted, “Pity, maybe? Desperation? Lost a bet?” 

Victoria’s tone softened. “It doesn’t sound like you have a very high opinion of yourself.” 

Roman snorted, derisively. “Should I?” He retorted. “It’s not like I’m anything that special, like a huntsman or something. Ya know what I am? I’m the world’s best juvenile delinquent. I’m the smartest rat in the hole.”

Victoria seemed to give this some thought. “Well,” she reasoned, “at least that’s something.” 

“Not to the rest of the world.” 

“The rest of the world doesn’t matter right now.” She stated, firmly. “Right now, the only people that matter are the people in this car.” 

“Oh,” Roman pretended to look around, “is there someone else in your trunk?” 

—————— 

“Huh.” 

“Something interesting?” 

“Yeah, I was toying with the idea of robbing this place before I got picked up.” 

Victoria ushered Roman into the drugstore, waving at the cashier, who took one look at Roman and started reaching for the panic button under her desk. 

“Excuse me,” Victoria put on a fake mega-sweet voice, “could you tell me where your cold medicines are?” 

“Aisle eight,” the woman replied, “but, I wouldn’t give that kid any drugs! He might try and sell them!” 

“Thanks for the tip!” 

While Victoria was having her exchange with the cashier, Roman wandered the aisles, running his fingers over labels for things he hadn’t dared touch in years. Nobody was watching. He could snatch something right now and be out the door before they realized something was wrong. All it took was a little gesture, one he had done dozens of times. 

“Hey!” Victoria appeared at Roman’s side, startling him. “Aisle eight.” she stated, holding up a small cardboard box as if that explained anything. “Would you believe a small bottle of pills like this costs eight lien?! Seriously, eight! For maybe…” she shook the box, “twenty pills!” 

“Well, yeah!” Roman looked at the box, “You’re buying a brand name. If you’re going to insist on paying for drugs, go generic. They’re cheaper.” 

“You don’t settle for ‘cheap’ when you’re buying something that could potentially save your life, Roman.” Victoria, for some reason, sounded saddened at his suggestion. “You spring for the more expensive stuff when it comes to health.”

“Again,” Roman repeated, “if you insist on paying.” 

“Hey,” the sudden softness in her tone caught Roman completely off-guard, “you don’t have to steal anymore. You know that, right? I can afford to pay for things.” 

“Law of reciprocity.” Roman muttered under his breath. 

“What?” 

“Nothing in this world comes for free.” He elaborated. “You get what you give. If you’re doing all this for me, you’ve got to want something in return.” 

“I swear, I don’t.” 

Roman stared her down for a while, waiting for the truth to come out. “Fine,” he finally snapped, “don’t tell me; but when it comes time for me to pay up, don’t expect me to happy! Everything you do is just another strike on my bill!” 

“Look,” Victoria sighed, “I don’t expect you to trust me right away; not completely, at least. Just, let me help you. We’ll see how the next few days ago. If you hate me in a week, I’ll let you get back to whatever it is you did before you were arrested. If you don’t, then I’ll have done what I’m setting out to do.”

“And what is that, exactly?” 

“Turn a scared-shitless kid into a hero.”

“I’m not scared!” 

“Sure you’re not.” 

“I’m not!” 

Victoria fixed him with a knowing look. Roman thought she would continue the argument, but instead she simply turned on her heel and headed to the counter to check out. For a moment, he was tempted to make a break for it while her back was turned. Roman could run away right now, and something told him Victoria wouldn’t do anything to stop him. All this madness could be over in the blink of an eye…but there were still too many unanswered questions. 

As much as Roman didn't like being tied to one place or person, he hated cliffhanger endings even more. Maybe sticking around to see how everything was going to play out wasn’t the worst idea. 

“You coming or what?” Victoria called from the door.   
“You know you could have just left, right?” Roman joined her. “You saw I was spaced out. You could have ditched me.” 

“That would be counterproductive.” Victoria led him back to the car. “I went through a lot of trouble to find you. Leaving you behind now would just be a waste. Uh…” she stopped him as he was about to get into the back seat, “How would you feel about sitting up front the rest of the way?” 

“I thought we agreed to trust each other.” Roman countered. “Are you afraid I’ll combat-roll out into the middle of the road?” 

“That thought had crossed my mind,” Victoria admitted, “but, mostly, I want to talk to you more, and I don’t want to have to take my eyes off the road. I’ll be more focused if you’re riding shotgun.” 

Roman rolled his eyes. It wasn’t like there was a ton to know about him. He wasn’t especially interesting! “Fine,” he huffed, taking his place in the front seat, “but don’t try and get all deep with me! None of this ‘how does that make you feel’ crap!” 

—————— 

As it turned out, Victoria mainly wanted to know about Roman’s background. She didn’t believe he’d been on the streets his whole life, and seemed to see right through the lie that he didn’t know who his parents were. After a good deal of bickering back and forth and no small amount of threatening that he would jump out of the car if she didn’t drop the subject, Victoria finally managed to glean bits and pieces out of Roman, like his parents’ obsession with appearing rich, his father’s job, and the threat of being sent to the military for his misbehavior. 

“Ironwood?” Victoria asked in disbelief, “Your parents were seriously planning to send you to Ironwood?” 

“Well,” Roman corrected her, “My father was. My mother was off…honestly, I don’t know, probably gambling with her friends or something. Why, is Ironwood an asshole or something?” 

“He’s smart, I guess.” Victoria shrugged, “I don’t know a whole lot about him, but one does hear things. For what it’s worth, I think you made the right decision. The rumor is Ironwood is a complete dick.”

“He can’t be any worse than my dad.” 

The corner of Victoria’s mouth turned down. “I’m sure your father isn’t as bad as you make him sound, Roman. He probably just wanted what was best for you.” 

“Alright, that’s it!” Roman grabbed the car door handle and pulled on it, trying to get it open. The damn thing wouldn’t budge! “What the f-what did you do?!” He shouted. 

“Child safety locks.” Victoria replied, smugly. “I engaged them as soon as we started talking about your parents. I needed insurance in case I struck a nerve.” 

“TURN THEM OFF!!” 

“No,” she refused, calmly, “because once I did, you’d be out of here in a blink, and I didn’t buy anything that can be used to treat road rash. Now, back to your horrible father?” 

“No!” Roman exclaimed, “I’m done talking about him! I’m done talking about both of them! I’m done talking to you at all!” 

“I didn’t mean to cross a line. At what point did I go too far?” 

Roman sat in silence, refusing to answer. 

“Was it when I defended him?” Victoria asked. No answer. “I’ll take that as a yes.” She continued, “I’m sorry I immediately jumped to his defense. In this world, it’s rare to find parents who aren’t wrapped up in one cause or another. Nuclear families are hard to come by.” 

Roman continued to sulk. 

“But,” Victoria went on, knowing full-well that he was listening, “that doesn’t mean that all nuclear families are perfect. You seem to be a smart kid. I’m guessing things had to be pretty bad if you abandoned the comforts of home for a life on the streets. Roman, I need you to understand something. Look at me if you’re really listening.” 

Roman rolled his head so he was facing her. 

“I’m going to try and reach out to your parents.” 

“That’s not going to work the way you think it will.” Roman told her, flatly. “Whatever you tell them, they won’t care.” 

“I still have to try!” Victoria insisted. “If I can get you back to them-!” 

“I won’t go back!” Roman sat up a bit straighter, locking eyes with her so she would know he was serious. “If you try and give me back to them, I’ll just bolt again! I’m done living there!” 

“Roman, you’re barely fifteen! I read your file at the police station! You’re just a kid!” Victoria’s tone made it clear that there was no room for debate this time. “This world is too dangerous for someone as young as you to be wandering around on your own!” 

“Okay, then,” Roman countered, “teach me how to defend myself! You’re a huntress! You know how to fight!” There was a lengthy pause. “You said you could turn me into a hero.” He reminded her. 

“I know I did.” Victoria replied, softly. “I’d still be able to train you, but I would have peace of mind in knowing that you’re separated from danger; that you have somewhere to go where you’ll be away from the darkness of the world! It can’t be all combat all the time, Roman, not for someone who has other options. I won’t do that to you.” 

Roman’s face grew hot in the way it only did when he was about to lose his temper. “I don’t,” He started, voice dangerously calm, “give a rat’s ass about your peace of mind!!”

“You don’t have to.” 

“Screw you, Lady!!” 

They stayed in silence for a while after that. Roman get his gaze fixed to the window as he thought about what might happen once they reached their destination. Victoria expected to hear tearful parents on the other end of the phone once she made the call. She was destined to be horribly disappointed. If his mother or father even bothered to answer her calls, she wouldn’t find parents who were grateful for news of their child. They wouldn’t cry, or beg for information, or even bother to thank Victoria for getting Roman out of jail.

It was more likely that they would assume he’d just gotten into even bigger trouble.

Nobody seemed to get it! Roman’s parents didn’t care! He’d technically been missing for a year now, and there hadn’t been a single missing person poster put up, alert sent out, or mention of Roman’s “disappearance” on the news! They, along with everyone else, were acting like he’d never even existed! Why, then, did every adult who claimed to want to “help” always start by trying to call them?! Big surprise, Mother and Father never answered their scrolls! They were probably too busy enjoying childless freedom now that their only son was out of their lives, and…shit, was he crying right now?! 

“Are you okay?” Victoria asked, gently. 

“Yeah,” Roman tried to play off the tears as a random accident, “that just happens, sometimes. Give it a minute, it’ll pass.” He quickly wiped his eyes on his sleeve. 

“There’s tissues in the glove compartment.” 

Roman opened a small hatchway in the dashboard, found a tissue box, and pulled a few out to dry his eyes better. “Thanks.” He mumbled, before adding quickly, “Seriously, this is nothing. It just started out of nowhere.” 

“I understand.” At least Victoria wasn’t pushing this subject. “So,” she seemed to be choosing her words carefully, now, “how long has it been since the last time?” 

“The last time what?” Roman asked. 

“The last time.” 

“Oh,” Part of him wished he didn’t understand the question, “Honestly? A long fucking time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back?! Chapters four and five just came back from my partner, who made sure they were edited to perfection! I haven't gotten the green light to post Five yet, but it is coming VERY shortly (like, in the next day or two.)   
> Hope you're enjoying the story so far!   
> Questions/Comments/Compliments/Insults (please don't)? Leave a comment and I'll get back to you as soon as possible! Stay tuned for chapter five!!


	5. Chapter 5

“You live here?” Roman stared at the little house in vague disgust, “You’re joking.” 

From the stories he’d read in books as a child, Roman had always imagined that the life of a huntsman or huntress would be one of adventure and prestige. They were the mythical heroes, out saving the day while the common folk lived their lives in ignorance of the danger they were in on a near-constant basis. If not for those who were brave enough to fight the creatures of Grimm, humanity would have been wiped out eons ago. 

So then…why did Victoria live in a cabin in the middle of nowhere? 

Why didn’t she live in a glittering city where everyone knew her name and exalted her for feats of incredible bravery? For the first time in his life, Roman felt insulted for someone other than himself! This wasn’t fair! He knew rich people who didn’t work half as hard as someone like Victoria and lived twice as large! 

“Damn,” Victoria laughed, getting out of the car and crossing to open his door for him because she still refused to turn the damn child safety locks off, “is it fun throwing stones from inside your glass house?” 

“Hahahaha.” Roman groused, “Seriously, I thought you were a huntress. For someone whose job it is to make sure everyone else doesn’t become Beowolf kibble, this seems underwhelming.” 

“Were you expecting me to live in a castle?” 

“I was expecting you to live in a house that doesn’t look like you built it with your bare hands.” 

“Just keep throwing stones,” Victoria unlocked the front door and held it open, following Roman inside, “but I’ve had running water and electricity for the last few years while you’ve been scraping by on money you steal from tourists.” 

“Hey!” 

“Am I wrong?” Victoria removed her coat and hung it on a hook by the door. “It may not be fancy, Roman, but it is my home; and it’s yours too, while you’re here. Get used to it, take advantage of it,” she placed a hand on his shoulder, “but don’t disrespect it.” She wrinkled her nose a bit. “That reminds me, you need a wash. There's a bathroom down the hall to the right.” 

—————— 

The bathroom was as basic as one could get; nothing fancy or extraneous, but to Roman, it felt like an oasis in an endless desert. One didn’t realize how much of a luxury indoor plumbing was until one went without it for an extended period of time. 

Clean clothes had been placed on a shelf above the sink, prompting Roman to raise an eyebrow and call to Victoria: “Hey! How do you know any of this stuff is going to fit?”

“It won’t,” came the reply, “it’ll all be big on you. I didn’t know your exact sizes, but I figured too big would be better than too small. There are drawstrings on the sweat pants so they stay up, if that was a concern of yours.” 

Roman couldn't help but blush at the gesture. Victoria seemed more prepared to take him in than he’d thought she’d be. Clearly, she had given everything a decent bit of thought; enough to warrant buying him new clothes, at least, and still decided he was worth the effort. 

How odd was that? 

He pulled back a thin white curtain to examine the shower, hoping it wouldn’t be too complicated. Luckily, the setup was familiar enough that Roman didn’t have to ask for help. One knob turned on the water (and Roman wouldn’t put it past Victoria to have switched the labels for “hot” and “cold” just for a laugh) and a lever that activated the shower. The water came out ice cold as soon as he turned it on (so she hadn’t switched the labels), and Roman quickly pulled his hand back away from it, skin immediately erupting into goosebumps from the sudden and unpleasant sensation. 

As soon as he’d settled on a temperature that was somewhere between comfortably warm and not rip-ones-skin-off cold, he hesitantly removed his jacket and the old clothes he was just now starting to realize smelled vaguely like sweat and disease. 

Damnit, Victoria had been right. He did need a wash. 

Roman left his clothes on the floor of the bathroom and got into the shower, knees almost buckling from how good it felt to be under running water again. He read the labels on a set of brown bottles that sat on the edge of the tub, trying to decide which one he was supposed to use. Victoria hadn’t really specified, and Roman imagined that at least one of these was reserved for her use only. 

It was probably the conditioner. That one smelled the most like flowers. 

Did Victoria smell like flowers? 

Why was Roman’s mind wandering to what Victoria smelled like? 

Focus, damnit!! He chided himself, You’re wasting water!! 

Roman squeezed a good amount of shampoo into his hand and worked it through his hair, trying to scrub away a year’s worth of filth in only a few minutes. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. His hair got clean enough, sure. 

It was his skin that he found the most trouble with. 

There was an itchy sort of discomfort that had settled onto Roman like a poorly-made sweater. Once the chill had been erased from his bones, an unwelcoming heat flooded in to take its place. No matter how much Roman tried to wash whatever was causing it off, he just couldn’t make it budge! He couldn’t make himself feel clean enough. Finally, growing frustrated with his fruitless efforts (and strangely light-headed), he turned the knob all the way over to the cold setting, steeling himself as the icy jet poured down on him. It was unpleasant, like knives across his skin, but it eased the light-headedness a bit. 

It did nothing to make Roman feel cleaner, though. 

He didn’t want to stay in here too long. Victoria would be waiting for him to get out, to stop taking up the only bathroom in the house; and gods only knew what she would do if he used up the hot water. Roman remembered the foul moods cold showers put his father in; how he would come downstairs and scream his head off at Roman for wasting water, wasting time, being inconsiderate, and any number of other things he could attach to the situation. 

Roman had learned to stop showering when his parents were home. Once they left to do…whatever the Hell it was that kept them away all day (and some nights), then he would shower. That way, if he did use up the hot water, there was a chance that it would recycle before they noticed. 

Giving up his attempt to scrub the unclean feeling from his skin, Roman turned off the water and dried off with what had to be the most unexpected soft towel he’d ever experienced. Victoria didn’t seem like the “fabric softener” type! Roman had pegged her more for the “throw everything in together and hope nothing turns pink” sort of laundry-doer. 

As he’d expected, the new clothes dwarfed him. 

Roman was certain that the shirt Victoria had left for him wasn’t supposed to be a V-neck, but on him, it was. The sweat pants, mercifully, weren’t too big, and they stayed up alright on their own with him having to tug on the draw strings too much, but what really caught Roman’s attention were the socks, pristine-white and made of a material that looked incredibly thick and felt just as soft. 

He hadn’t expected so many subtle gestures. 

Why was this woman he barely knew being this charitable? 

Oh, right, Roman reminded himself, because sooner or later, I’m going to have to pay her back. 

What a bitch. 

Roman left the bathroom followed the sound of Victoria’s voice, finding her perched on a couch in a little sitting room. She gestured for him to sit beside her on the couch, but Roman hesitated when he realized who she was leaving a message for. 

“….just thought you should know, he’s okay. When you get this message, please call me back so we can sort things out. Thank you, and have a nice day. Hey there,” she greeted him, ending the call, “you smell better already.” 

“They won’t call back.” 

Victoria’s smile faded a bit. “Then, I’ll call again.” 

Roman shook his head. “They won’t answer then, either.” 

“I’ll just keep calling until they do. They can’t ignore me forever.” 

“You’d be surprised.” 

“Sit.” Roman sat beside her, actively avoiding Victoria’s gaze, which practically burst with unasked questions. He could feel her watching him, feel her curiosity like it was a brand being burned into the side of his face. “You should take some cold medicine.” Victoria decided, keeping her voice low. “I didn’t get the non-drowsy kind, but I think you could use the sleep.” 

“I don’t sleep.” Roman stared down at his hands. “It’s not a good habit to get into when you have to be on your guard all the time.” 

“That wasn’t a request.” 

Victoria stood and left the room for a moment, returning with a bottle of the medicine she’d purchased. “Here,” she handed it to him, “I want to see you take that.” 

“Why?” Roman took the bottle from her. 

“Your color is still off. That’ll knock out the rest of whatever’s in your system.” 

“What if it turns out I’m allergic?” Roman was stalling. 

Victoria huffed a bit. “Then,” she replied, “I’ll dig you a lovely grave and donate your organs to science. Take your medicine.” 

Roman shrugged. “You’ll be the one going down for manslaughter.” He unscrewed the top of the medicine bottle and sniffed it, recoiling at the bitter chemical smell that was released. “Okay!” He exclaimed, “This might actually be poison!” 

Victoria remained unmoved. “I’ll make it a pretty grave.” She amended, “Take the damn medicine.” 

Finding no other way to avoid this, Roman drank down about a quarter of the bottle’s contents, forcing himself to swallow against his better judgement. He then hastily placed the bottle as far away from himself as possible on the coffee table in front of the couch. Mollified, Victoria left the room again, taking the bottle with her. 

“Hey, you’re welcome!” Roman called after her, earning a laugh in response. 

She didn’t come back to the room for what felt like hours. It was as if swallowing that medicine had made time move at half-speed. Everything felt slow, heavy, blurry; like a giant sheet of gauze had been wrapped around Roman’s mind. It took him a moment to recognize the sensation as… 

“I’m tired.” He murmured. 

When was the last time he had actually felt tired? Days? Weeks? Months? 

Roman had felt burnt out before, weary, fatigued, out of breath, but truly tired felt new and strange. It was even a bit frightening! His own brain was trying to shut itself down! In this new environment, in a house Roman didn’t fully know his way out of, there could be any number of dangers he had to be ready for! 

Tired could wait! Rest wasn’t a priority right now! Roman needed to stay vigilant! He needed to ensure that he was ready for- 

—————— 

“…understand it’s the middle of the night, Sir, but I just thought you should know that he’s alright. No, he’s been no trouble, as I said before. I…well, to be honest, I don’t know what he was doing when he was arrested, but I’m sure-Sir, don’t interrupt me. I’m sure he was just trying to…no, he’s asleep on my couch right now. If you’d listened to my message, you would know I bailed him out-hello? Ugh! Asshole!!” 

Roman woke up, mind still foggy. His mouth fell into a sleepy half-smile as he heard Victoria, talking angrily to someone on her scroll. 

“You are NOT getting out of this that easily, you dick!” He heard her mutter under her breath as she raised the scroll to her ear. “Hello?” Her tone became sweet again. “Is this…oh, hello, Ma’am, I know it’s late, but…no, Ma’am, this actually has nothing to do with your husband. No, he and I aren’t having an affair…well, I’m sure you have heard that from other women before, but-no, wait, don’t hang up! Ma’am, as I told your husband, I’m calling about your son…your son, Roman?…Well, that’s not what his file says…it lists you and your husband as his parents. Are you saying there was an error in-you know what, never mind! I understand now. I won’t bother you again.” 

Roman heard the tinny sound of an incoming call alert blare suddenly from Victoria’s scroll. “Seriously?!” She groaned, hitting “Accept.” “Hello? Yes, Ma’am, this is the…” she sighed heavily, “this is the disrespectful bitch who just called…go ahead, you know you want to. Mm hm…yep, interesting…” she gasped, clearly exercising her skills in sarcasm, “He didn’t! No, you’re right, that is horrible! Yep, absolutely atrocious…no, you’re right, things were better when children knew their place. I completely agree. No, I do! I know I don’t sound like I do, but…” Victoria’s tone suddenly become genuinely interested, “Really? All the time, huh? Just out of curiosity, how many books on huntsmen did he have?” The answer brought a smile to her face. “That many? And he read all of them? Oh, oh he read them twice? I…you’re right, that is…that is a massive waste of time.” 

Roman ducked his head under the blanket he hadn’t realized Victoria had thrown over him, blushing furiously. Great, now his mother was ratting him out to a huntress about being a fanboy. He could only imagine the taunting that would greet him in the morning! 

Thanks a lot, Mom. 

“Ma’am,” Victoria became serious once again, “I don’t know if your husband got the chance to tell you this, but the reason I’m calling is to get this whole mess with Roman…yes, I’m sure he is to blame for the mess…straightened out as quickly as possible. As you were so kind to point out, my job is not very lucrative. I’m not in the ideal position to take Roman on as my ward. When would be the best time for us to meet so I can get him back to…Ma’am, you can’t mean that. No, I understand that he’s a handful, but…well those seem like harsh words for you to use, considering he’s your-!” Roman flinched as she raised her voice in genuine anger, “No, he IS YOUR SON!!” Victoria’s voice grew a bit fainter, signaling that she’d left the room. Roman could still hear her, though. 

Not like he needed to. He already knew what was being said. 

“DON’T GIVE ME THAT CRAP!!” Victoria screamed at the scroll, “TAKE SOME RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR KID, YOU STUPID, JUDGMENTAL BITCH!! DON’T YOU DARE-!” The sound of a chair being shoved over onto its side reverberated through the house. 

Roman kept the blanket over his head, turning onto his side so he could bury his face into the backing cushions of the couch. He heard Victoria come back into the room, and felt the couch sag a bit as she sat beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey, Kid,” She spoke softly, “you’re probably still asleep. I hope you’re still asleep.” She took a breath to steady herself. “This is probably going to be easier to explain in the morning, but um…well, to put it plainly, it looks like you’re stuck with me. I spoke to your parents, and…let’s just say we agreed that it’s what’s best for you. I know that probably wasn’t the outcome you were looking for, but…I’m really sorry. I’ll do my best to do right by you, I promise. I just wish I had better news.” 

This was a conversation they needed to both be involved in, Roman decided. “Victoria?” He pretended he was just waking up, “What’s goin’ on?” 

She smiled a bit, drawing her hand back. “I just got off the phone with your mom.” 

“Yeah? What’d she say?” 

“She said a lot. Most of it probably shouldn’t be repeated, but basically it looks like you’re staying here, for now.” 

Roman wanted to coax the truth out of her. It was time someone else admitted that they saw things the way he did. “They don’t want me back,” he probed, “do they?” 

“Roman, she didn’t-“ Victoria caught herself before she could outright lie, “I’m sure that’s not what she meant.” 

“Victoria,” Roman insisted, firmly, “you know that’s what she meant.” 

“She was probably just tired, Kid-!” 

“Stop,” Roman interrupted her, “lying to me. You talked to her. You heard her words. Victoria, they don’t want me back.” 

“Okay,” Victoria finally folded, “they don’t want you back.” 

“Admit I was right.” 

“No,” she replied, emphatically, “I won’t.” 

“You don’t have the guts to admit that the world isn’t as perfect as you want it to be.” Roman accused her. 

“I don’t have it in me,” Victoria admitted, “to accept that parents could just abandon their children.” 

Roman scoffed at her. “Wake up.” He snapped, letting the anger at his parents’ rejection color his tone. 

Victoria got to her feet, sympathy still shining in her eyes despite his rebuke. “Go to sleep.” She ordered. “We’ll figure this out in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally get to officially introduce you all to my partner! Now that her account has officially been created, we can start REALLY sharing credit!   
> As usual, leave a comment telling us what you thought! Comments, concerns, criticisms, complaints (if you're into that kind of thing) etc.   
> I am in the process of writing chapter six now. As soon as I finish writing it and Silly_Fly finishes fixing my (many many) grammar mistakes, we will have it up!


	6. Chapter 6

The next day went about as well as Roman and Victoria would expect. 

They were cordial to each other (mostly). 

They managed not to kill each other within the first few hours (which was, frankly, a bit of a miracle). 

But, the tension couldn’t be overlooked. Roman had expected his parents to write him off and ignore any attempts Victoria might make to give him back. Their abandonment didn’t hurt him as much as it maybe should have. Believe it or not, it seemed to hurt Victoria much more deeply. 

“It’s absolutely unbelievable!” She snarled the next morning, unaware of Roman as he walked into the little kitchen with an amused smirk on his face, “Those ice cold, unfeeling sons of bi-!” She wheeled around as he cleared his throat, loudly. “Morning!” Victoria greeted, with a smile that seemed just a bit too forced, “How did you sleep last night?” 

“I didn’t,” Roman admitted, “I have a policy against sleeping in places I don’t recognize. Usually I just lie there and black out for a few minutes at a time.” 

“Sounds unhealthy.” 

“Well, it’s worked this long. If it ain’t broke, don’t break it.” 

Victoria rolled her eyes. “I should have dosed you with more cold medicine. Speaking of which,” her voice took on a concerned edge, “how are you feeling?” 

“I can breathe out of both sides of my nose,” Roman reported, “and my throat doesn’t hurt as much anymore.” 

“Ah,” Victoria beamed, triumphantly, “the drugs worked, then!”

“Maybe next time, you should try using them on the elephant in the room,” Roman took a seat at a kitchen table Victoria had obviously made herself, “since he doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.” 

There was a long stretch of silence. “Here,” Victoria set down a bowl of some beige substance that couldn’t be identified by smell, “I know oatmeal isn’t the most flavorful stuff in the world, but-“ 

“Victoria,” Roman cut her off, “you talked to them last night. My parents; you know they aren’t taking me back.” 

“They just need time.” Roman rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to charge out of the room. Victoria raised her voice just enough to stop the argument he was about to make. “We will give them a month-“ 

“Gods damnit,” Roman shouted over her, “why won’t you just listen to me?!” 

“We will give them a month, Roman,” Victoria insisted, “and if we reach out and their decision hasn’t changed, then we’ll leave them be!” 

“You’re wasting your time on stupid ideals!” Roman could feel that familiar heat that usually came when he was about to lose his temper. “I told you it’s useless! Over and over and fucking over again!!” 

“Okay, I’m sorry!!” 

All at once, the heat started to ebb away; replaced by growing confusion. She was sorry? Roman wrinkled his nose, trying to figure out when the last time was that someone had actually said “I’m sorry” to him and meant it. Victoria obviously wasn’t faking. She seemed genuinely apologetic, but…why? Arguments didn’t usually end with the other person apologizing. They either ended in a fist fight or an apology from Roman that was only used to get out of punishment. 

“What are you sorry for?” Roman mumbled. 

“I haven’t been listening to you about your parents.” Victoria explained. “I’m sorry about that.” 

“Ew.” 

“Ew?” 

“Don’t apologize to me. It feels bizarre.” 

“Decent people apologize, Roman.” 

He shot her a shit-eating grin. “What does that make me, then?” 

It makes you,” Victoria stood up, “someone whose about to be force-fed cold oatmeal, soon.” She turned to leave the kitchen, messing up his hair on her way out. 

“Hey!” Roman tried to duck away, “Where are you going?” 

“I ate already,” Victoria bragged, “I’m going out to practice.” 

“Practice what?” Roman watched her until she was out of sight. “Wait,” he called, “practice what?!” 

—————— 

A few minutes later, Roman made his way out of the cabin; curiosity at where Victoria had gone warring with his natural wariness of the forest. These woods, like all woods, weren’t safe for human visitation. 

They weren’t safe for any visitation. 

What was the common expression people used? Oh yeah…places like this ate people alive.   
Keep a positive attitude sounded like a cheesy expression, but that wasn’t the full version. 

Keep a positive attitude or get devoured by creatures of Grimm. Lovely. Roman was surprised nobody had put that on a tee shirt, yet.

Roman was careful to keep his eyes open as he made his way through the trees. He tried to keep his thoughts on the positives in his life, but the list wasn’t very long. He was alive, he was relatively healthy, and he had a place to stay. He wasn’t in prison, he wasn’t one of Ironwood’s lackeys, and he wasn’t locked up in some school. He was free. 

Completely free. 

Free and living on his own. Alone. Without anyone around. 

An uneasy, crawling feeling on the back of Roman’s neck alerted him that his thoughts were getting a little too dark. He had to keep himself in check; at least until he could locate Victoria! He wasn’t a wuss, he could hold his own in a fight if he had to, but against humans. 

Only idiots picked fights with Grimm. 

“Hey, Victoria,” Roman tried to keep his voice even, “where are you?” 

After what felt like an eternity of waiting for a reply, Roman finally started hearing voices nearby. One of them was definitely Victoria, but other two…one sounded familiar, and the other was a complete mystery. 

Roman crouched behind a nearby shrub, in order to eavesdrop without being seen. 

“….not even sure how you found out so quickly.” Victoria sounded defensive, “It’s barely been a day!” 

“You impersonated a professor,” the mystery voice, a man’s voice, replied. “Did you think the police wouldn’t contact us?” 

“I had to do something, Oz.” 

“No,” the familiar voice, also male, responded, “you didn’t, actually. This isn’t part of the job! We save people! We don’t break them out of jail; not when they deserve to be locked up!” 

“Deserved?!” Victoria shot back, “Are you kidding me, Qrow?! How do you have the right to decide that?!” 

“How do you have the right to decide who is innocent, Victoria?” The mystery man asked, voice frustratingly calm. Roman bristled, angry at the almost-demeaning tone he was using. “You have a kind heart; but, you’ve always been reckless.” 

“Did you come here to scold me, Professor?” Victoria replied, snidely. 

“I came here to make sure you haven’t leapt without looking.”   
“I haven’t! Believe it or not, I know what I’m doing!” 

“Then,” Qrow countered, “you know you took a juvenile delinquent into the middle of the woods and put him within arms’ reach of a weapon?” 

“He hasn’t tried anything, Qrow.” Victoria said, voice dangerously calm. “He’s not dangerous!” 

Roman decided now was as good a time as any to make his presence known. “Who’s not dangerous?” He asked, standing up and strolling over to them with an air of casual curiosity. “Sorry to interrupt, but I heard the words ‘juvenile delinquent’ and sort of figured you were talking about me.” 

The two men Victoria had been arguing with turned and stared at him like he was a brand new life form. The one Roman recognized clearly remembered him. An irritated scowl warped what were otherwise not-unattractive features (for someone who dressed like a homeless goth clown), and the hand which wasn’t clutching a comically large scythe was curled into a fist. 

Go ahead, Roman thought, make the first move. 

The other stranger was much harder to read, and Roman didn’t care for that bullshit at all. There was something deeply unnerving about a man who kept his expressions so carefully guarded. A mess of silver hair sat like a crown atop the stranger’s head, clashing with a face that couldn’t be any older than thirty-five or forty. Hell, aside from the grey hair, this guy looked younger than Roman’s father! 

“ ‘Morning, Kid,” Victoria offered Roman an easy smile, “how was the oatmeal?” 

“Bland.” Roman admitted. “It seems to be much more exciting out here, though.” 

“This is him, then?” The silver-haired man asked. By process of elimination, his name was Oz, apparently. What a dumb name. “This is the boy you’re fostering?” 

“No,” Roman decided to have a little fun, “actually, I was just wandering by.” 

Victoria seemed to catch on. “The boy I took in has red eyes and fangs, and says everything backward.” 

“He also has a tail.” Roman added. 

Victoria’s guests didn’t seem amused by the joke. “This is serious!” Qrow snapped. “Do you even know where this kid is from? Do his parents know he’s here?!” 

“Well I haven’t got parents,” Roman shot back, “so, I guess we won’t have to worry about that!” 

Qrow muttered something under his breath before turning and walking away. Roman expected Oz to follow immediately; to hurry after his companion and get out of ear shot so they could talk more about the juvenile delinquent orphan Victoria was rearing. He expected this buttoned-up, silver-haired enigma of a human being to want to get as far away as possible. Usually, people who dressed in fancy clothes and spoke like high-class aristocrats didn’t linger among the common folk. 

So, it was a bit surprising when Oz (whose parents presumably hated him, because why else would they name him Oz) stepped closer to Roman, tarrying a bit as if he was appraising an antique painting. 

“Oz?” Victoria asked, “Is everything alright?” 

“Do I get to know why you’re staring at me?” Roman pressed. “I feel like I’m missing something, here.” 

“Just committing your face to memory.” Oz explained, before turning on his heel and following Qrow. 

Roman waited until he was sure the two men were out of earshot before he asked any of the ten billion questions that were currently bouncing around in his brain. “Victoria,” he started, “are all your friends strange?” 

“Yeah,” Victoria admitted, “they’re pretty much all incredibly bizarre; some more than others.” 

“Next question.” 

“Yes?” 

“How did they know I was here?” 

Victoria laughed in response, breaking the tension that had been lingering in the morning air. “My old headmaster has his ways of keeping tabs on people.” She explained, “Even after we graduate, he still hangs around to make sure we’re on our best behavior.” 

“That sounds…” Roman searched for the right word, “absolutely awful.” 

Victoria shrugged. “It’s annoying, but it keeps me honest.” 

“And your goth boyfriend?” Roman teased her, “Does he keep you honest, too?” 

“Goth boyfriend?” Victoria sounded confused. Roman watched in amusement as her eyes grew wide, first with understanding, then with disgust. “Oh! Oh no, gods no! Qrow’s not…we’re not…no! Absolutely not! We were friends at school and he helps me out with missions, but we’re not like that!” 

Satisfied, Roman looked around for another topic of conversation. His eyes landed on Victoria’s umbrella; the end of which was still smoking slightly from having been fired recently. Victoria followed his gaze, a proud smile growing on her face. “How did you get your weapon?” Roman wondered. 

“Qrow helped me with the design,” Victoria hefted the umbrella into her hands, “and I did most of the customization myself. I had to make sure she was exactly how I wanted her.”   
“She?” 

“That,” Victoria’s tone became firmer, less like that of a friend and sounding more like a teacher, “is lesson number one. Every weapon should be treated like a loved one. They need care, respect, and most importantly, an identity.” 

Roman scoffed. “Gods, you didn’t name your umbrella, did you?” 

“Of course I did!” Victoria exclaimed, “This is Elegant Guardian. She always has my back, and she’s a thing of beauty.” She leveled the umbrella, aiming down the barrel like a soldier on the battlefield. “Fully manual, multiple concealed cartridges for ammo, and a range of no less than fifteen feet. Her reload time is almost zero, and her kickback is barely noticeable once you get used to her. Sure, she’s a bit temperamental sometimes,” Victoria smiled like a proud parent, “but, she’s all mine. She hasn’t let me down since the day I put the finishing touches on her, and she’ll be with me ‘till the day I die.” 

“Do you two need a minute?” Roman taunted her. 

“You laugh now,” Victoria sounded offended, “but, if you ever become a true huntsman, the day will come when you love something just as much as I love E.G. It could be a gun, a blade, even a partner; but, you’ll find that one thing that you can always rely on.” 

Roman rolled his eyes. “I hate to damage your sentimentality,” he replied, “but when I become a true huntsman, I’m not gonna bother with partners, alright? People are a liability. A partner is like a second backpack: useful for a while, but ultimately just another burden.”

“Wow,” Victoria said, “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be offended that you basically just called me a useless backpack.” 

“I don’t mean you, obviously. You’re not my partner. You're more like a live-in landlord.” 

“Nice. In any case, though,” Victoria continued, “you should never discredit the importance of a partner. In the field, having someone to cover you, someone to have your back even when it seems like no-one else does? That’s invaluable, Roman. You should never enter a fight alone. Always have someone waiting in the wings, because when things go south and you can’t fight anymore, you’ll be a lot more likely to survive if you have someone to pick up the slack.” 

“That’s easy for you to say,” Roman muttered, “you have a partner. I doubt people would be lining up to work with me. Your two friends seemed pretty adamant that this whole arrangement we’re in is going to bite you in the ass, eventually. You’ve seen how people act around me. How am I expected to find a partner?” 

Victoria’s eyes took on that sympathetic look Roman was starting to get annoyed by. “The right person will come along.” She asserted. “You won’t be looking for them, you won’t be expecting them, but one day, you’ll meet them, and you’ll know.” 

“I’ll just magically know the person I can trust my life to?” 

“It won’t be magic!” Victoria retorted, “It will be instinct! Something inside you will tell you you’ve found them. You’ll feel it; in your gut, in your mind, in your skin, everywhere. Every part of you will feel like some missing piece has fallen into place. You just have to shut up and listen to that little voice in your brain.” 

“Alright,” Roman struggled to argue with that, “but, what if I’m wrong? What if I trust the wrong person and get completely screwed over?” 

“Trust me,” Victoria replied, “you won’t be wrong.”


End file.
